“Kosta,” he said in a terrified, hushed voice, “we have to go back, now!”
Young Ollardian, sprawled on the ground, opened his eyes, bloodshot and watering because of his endless cough, then made an effort to get up and leaned against the nearest cedar tree for support. His wheezy breath was painful to hear.
“Of course…” he whispered. “We will go… it doesn’t matter where to now… Please, sit with me… I have to tell you…”
But he didn’t have the chance… A terrified, wailing cry interrupted him mid-phrase. It must have belonged to a young child scared out of their wits.
“Stay here,” pleaded Bala, torn between his helpless friend and the helpless little stranger. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Don’t…” wheezed Kosta, trying to grab his sleeve, but Bala was too quick for him.
“Late once again,” he thought bitterly. And then he got up and tried to run after his friend.
Two seconds into the run, Kosta started to cough again. His lungs could not take it anymore. His heart was close to its limit as well; it pounded so fast in a desperate attempt to keep up with the sick body’s demands that Kosta felt close to blacking out. His vision dimmed, blurred, overcast with dancing green specks. He had to slow his pace to stay conscious but didn’t dare to stop, knowing that any delay could cost Bala everything.
“Breathe… breathe… breathe…” the boy chanted in his thoughts.
Bala was running through the forest in the direction he had heard the child’s cry from. The undergrowth was thick there; that made Bala’s long sword a real burden that slowed him a great deal. Luckily, the child, a little boy, jumped out of the bushes right in front of Bala.
Marascaran went down on one knee and tried to calm down the kid and learn what had happened to him. The boy looked about five years old: he seemed younger than Jarmin. He was scrawny, dirty, and dressed in filthy rags; his arms and cheeks were red with scratches that running through the undergrowth had left him. The boy’s little face was a mask of utter terror; it made all the horrors of the No Man’s Land that Bala had heard of from his teammates flash before his mind’s eye in a split second.
“What happened to you?” he asked, trying to sound as calm and confident as he could.
“They killed mommy…” whispered the child, his voice gone, probably from crying so loudly.
“Who?”
“They’re scary, evil! With long teeth! There!” the boy pointed his finger somewhere beyond Bala’s back.
“Stay here and be very quiet,” said Bala. He stood up and unsheathed his sword. “I’ll go have a look…”
“NO!!! Bala, don’t!!!” That was Kosta’s cry. One could only guess what that kind of effort it had cost him. “Step away from it!!!”
Surprised and startled, Bala turned back to the child. And recoiled instantly in horror, with his sword in front of him…
The mask of the human child now thrown away, the creature that had lured Bala here started to change into its real form. The eyes, blue and teary the second before, turned glassy and black. A heavy brow overhung them now. The nose sunk into the skull and turned into a narrow slit. The corners of the mouth stretched almost to the ears, revealing two rows of pointy teeth bending inward – a deathly trap for any prey. The “kid’s” arms lost their gentle appearance, they stretched and twisted, turning into grabby paws with long, clawed fingers.
